


I Can't Believe It's Not Canon!

by Amber_Angel



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Female Dean, Female Doctor (Doctor Who), Female Sherlock Holmes, Fluff, Gabriel POV, Genderbending, I will warn about major spoilers I promise, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform, So many ships, Some Spoilers, Wincest (mentioned), game show, janto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-13 19:01:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10519869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_Angel/pseuds/Amber_Angel
Summary: Gabriel turns shipping into a game show. Twelve contestants, seven ships, four shows. Who will win?





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm not sure if this has been done before, but I just thought you know, if Gabriel were trying to get his ships together, he would undoubtedly do it in some really crazy, eccentric way. Like hosting a game show where his OTP's were contestants. In this chapter, there are spoilers from season four and on from Supernatural, and for season two and on for Sherlock. There aren't really any from Doctor Who yet, but there will be some next chapter. I'll post the warnings when I post the chapter. I hope you enjoy!

They all seemed dazed and confused as the curtain rose and the lights flared. All but the tall one in the long coat and scarf, but that was no surprise. There wasn't much that could faze Sherlock Holmes. As soon as he realized that John Watson was by his side, on a different pedestal immediately to his right, and that Molly Hooper was to his left, his gaze swept over the rest of his surroundings, taking everything in.

The tall drink of water known as Sam Winchester was taking in the situation too, but he made no effort to hide his fear and confusion. It was a little gratifying. Almost nothing rattled the younger Winchester. His brother, standing on the pedestal to Sam's left, was busy making sure that both his Sammy and his angel were okay. Dean’s expression was carefully schooled to remain nonchalant, but I could see the anger underneath, especially when Castiel, standing to his left and John Watson’s right, informed him that he could not simply “poof out” of the building. 

That was the upper six pedestals checked and ready to go. The remaining four contestants were surprisingly calm, as though they were used to this, which, of course, they probably were. They were all experienced time travelers, after all. The Doctor was puzzling over how he had somehow regressed two regenerations, but he and Rose Tyler were understandably overjoyed to see each other again, although the threat of their strange surroundings came first. Captain Jack Harkness was analysing the situation, and Ianto Jones looked mildly terrified. Beautiful. The plan was falling into place. 

I raised an arm to indicate the ten contestants, and the music started. The audience roared. Finally, to be back at it! I felt euphoric. 

“Welcome, to the new game show sensation that's sweeping the nation!” I called, laughing as I heard Sam yell in disbelief from behind me at the sound of my voice. “Here it is, folks, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Canon! Let's meet our contestants!”

Team Free Will gasped as their pedestals began to rise, lifting them a few feet above Sherlock and crew. The cameras locked in on their shocked faces, projecting the image to the big screen behind them. 

“From Team Free Will, Saaaaaaam Winchester!” I cried, stretching out the name as good show host should. The spotlight fixed itself on Sam, and he threw up an arm to shield his eyes. I continued. 

“Second youngest of his father John's three children, Sammy was a pre-law student twelve years ago at Stanford. He's loyal, brave, and devilishly handsome, and no, that's not a jab at the fact that he's Lucifer’s ideal vessel.”

Sam gasped, but the spotlight had already been lifted from him and had descended on Dean, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Next up is Dean, now the second oldest living Winchester, otherwise known as the Righteous Man. He's literally been to Hell and back. He's got some trust issues, but if he calls you family, he means it.”

Dean spluttered and blushed, and the light abandoned him for Castiel, who squinted and cocked his head.

“And last but by no means least, Castiel, wayward son of the one and only Chuck! He hauled Dean's ass out of Hell, and even starred as Chuck himself for a while the original was absent. This angel would die for his family, but ‘family don't end in blood’ with this one.”

Castiel's eyebrows rose in surprise. The light went out and slowly, the three pedestals lowered, while Sherlock, John, and Molly’s rose.

“Now introducing the 221B Bunch! You like it? I came up with that name myself.” I paused to let the crowd cheer. The spotlight settled on John.

“John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers! This army doctor may have some specks of grey in that blonde, but if that's old, then old age is treating him spectacularly!”

John frowned and raised a hand indignantly, but the light had already moved on to Sherlock. 

“Sherlock Holmes… World's only consulting detective. You, sir, are incredible, mentally and physically. Just look at those cheekbones, folks! He can deduce you in two minutes, and steal your heart in one.”

Sherlock remained expressionless. The spotlight turned to glare at Molly.

“Pretty Molly Hooper, mortician at Bart’s Hospital, the very place that Sherlock faked his suicide. She was the only person-other than Mycroft, of course-that he trusted to help him save his other loved ones.”

Molly blushed and the pedestals sank back to their original position. None of the pedestals in front rose, but the light focused on Ten and Rose. 

“Up next, introducing Team TARDIS!” I grinned, and the light zeroed in on the Doctor.

“The Doctor, a time-traveling alien from the planet Gallifrey with two hearts and thirteen lives. A renegade Time Lord who singlehandedly stopped the Time War, and has since then saved Earth countless times.”

Cue spotlight switch to Rose, who looked flustered.

“Rose Tyler, a human being from Earth. London, to be exact. Miss Tyler has been on occasion the most powerful creature in all of creation. You remember, I assume, when you took the entire time vortex into your head? Bad Wolf, everyone!”

Rose gaped at me, and the spotlight switched to illuminate both Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones.

“You two are the only real couple here. As such, Captain, Ianto, you will be our celebrity judges.” 

They shared a confused look, but Ianto seemed to be relieved that he wouldn't have to participate in whatever the others would be going through. 

“But wait! There is one more contestant, folks!”

The spotlight on the pedestals dimmed, and brightened on me. I bowed.

“Newly back from the dead, I am the youngest of the big four, the one, the only, the trickster-y, Gabriel!” 

The three voices of Sam, Dean, and Castiel called out in shock from behind me and I laughed as the stage fell dark. 

*****

The minute the lights cut out, I knew that the ten contestants behind me would have questions. I snapped my fingers, freezing them on their pedestals and twirled around to face them with a smirk. All but Sherlock were staring at me, either slack-jawed or angry. The great Holmes simply looked bored. 

“Well, that introduction served many purposes,” I declared, “but right now, all that's important is that you know each other, and have some idea of why you're here. Those pedestals will lower in a few minutes, and my lovely assistants here,” I snapped my fingers and four ladies appeared next to me, “will show you to your rooms, where you'll be staying for the duration of this experience. I'm going to retire before you can get to me to tear my head off.”

I chuckled and vanished just as the pedestals started to lower. They didn't know it yet, but for the ten individuals stepping off of their platforms, the game had already begun. 

Maybe it wasn't exactly fair to them when I was playing too, but I've never passed up the chance to be involved in my own mischief, so it's not like I'm going to start now. Besides, that Sam Winchester was quite a catch, and I felt like fishing. 

Of course, I had predetermined the winners. No matter what happened in this little game, no matter what I might have told that Torchwood couple, I had no intention of letting anything ruin my own ships. The only reason for this game was to make the process of getting my ships together fun. 

I smiled to myself as I poofed into my viewing room and adjusted the camera angle for the 221B Bunch’s room-it was just easier to call them that as a whole rather than to recall each name. This was going to be hilarious. What I had done was deliberately only give them two beds, which might not seem that strange at first, but I knew that both men would insist that Molly have her own bed, as they were gentlemen, and they would end up sleeping together. And just because they are how they are, it was more than likely that they would end up in a compromising position the next morning.

None of other three rooms had been tampered with too much. The Winchester’s room had three twin beds, a bookshelf that was almost overloaded, and it didn't take too long for Dean to find the fridge that had been generously stocked with beer. 

Team TARDIS’s room had blue walls and two full sized beds. I wanted them to have the option of sleeping together if they felt like it. 

Jack and Ianto’s room was fairly simple. Grey walls, a mini fridge filled with various alcoholic beverages, and one queen sized bed. And obviously, every room had a TV. 

It was rather funny, watching as the various contestants stepped into their living spaces. Sam and Dean both seemed surprised to find that their room was simply that: a room. There were no tricks or traps to be seen, and there was even a container filled with salt on one of the bedside tables. I had hoped that they would appreciate that. Having some form of defense always seemed to relax the hunters. Castiel kept his expression stoic and simply claimed the bed closest to the door as his own. 

The Doctor grinned as soon as he walked in and saw the walls. I knew that he'd like that little touch. Such a vibrant soul, he could always find at least a bit of positivity in his surroundings. Like the fact that the walls were the same color as his beloved TARDIS. Or that his Rose had somehow been returned to him. They hugged, the embrace dragging out for quite a while. 

Jack and Ianto settled in almost immediately, Captain Harkness taking advantage of the fridge. Ianto relaxed onto the bed and they swapped theories about how and why they were really here. Nothing too interesting, and besides, I could see that Sherlock, John, and Molly were approaching their room. I grinned and turned my attention to their screen.

Sherlock spotted my camera as soon as he entered, pointing it out to his companions, who gasped. Really, they should have expected at least some surveillance. Like I would really just leave them entirely to their own devices. 

John was the one to awkwardly point out the absence of a third bed, to which Sherlock laughed and rolled his eyes at the camera. 

“The game has already begun, John,” he remarked calmly. “Molly will take one bed, you will take the other, and I will not sleep tonight. Just because we have to be here does not mean we have to conform to this man’s obvious expectations.”

He smirked up at my camera.

“Did you really not anticipate this outcome?” he asked rhetorically, crossing his arms as he lowered himself into a conveniently placed armchair, which promptly gave out beneath him. 

“Sherlock!” 

Two voices cried out, perfectly synchronized as both Molly and John rushed to the detective, who waved them off, scowling. 

“Point, me.” I laughed and smirked at him through the screen. “Mr. Holmes, I do admire your intellect, but not even you can predict my spontaneity.”


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I decided to post this chapter a day early. I just walked twelve miles, and my feet are killing me. Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos, it means the world to me! Spoilers in this chapter are for season 6 of Doctor Who. Enjoy!

I sent my ladies to rouse the teams and bring them to breakfast with the promise of an explanation. They all filed in and sat, admiring the food that had been meticulously arranged on the table. 

“Please, go ahead and eat,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. Everyone except Sherlock began to fill their plates, although even the detective ate a biscuit at John's urging. 

I waited until they were all finished and staring at me expectantly before standing and clearing the table with a snap. Only Team Free Will was unimpressed by my showmanship, as was to be expected. 

“Gabriel,” Castiel growled. “What is this? How are you alive? Lucifer-” his voice failed him. 

Dean filled in the rest for him.

“Lucifer wasted you. We saw your body. Scorched wing marks and everything.”

The rest of the company was very confused indeed by this point, even Mr. Holmes. And it showed. I chuckled.

“Yes, I have quite a bit of explaining to do. It's true, for those of you who haven't worked it out already, I am the Gabriel. As in the biblical, bearing the news to Mary, Gabriel. I'm the youngest of the big four archangels, Michael, Lucifer, and Raphael.”

I paused to let the information sink in.

“I was killed by Lucifer back when he was attempting to start the Apocalypse the first time.” There were several confused mutters of “the first time?” and I almost laughed. 

“Believe me, I'm just as surprised to be back as you are to see me alive and well. One minute I was existing as atoms, the next, I'm back in this handsome fellow and waltzing all over Chuck's green earth. Eventually I got bored; tired of just seeing the sights. So I decided, why not have a little fun and get some work done at the same time? See, it's killing two birds with one stone, but I get to use a rocket launcher instead of a sling.”

There was one stifled laugh from Jack, and I grinned at him. 

“Now, since you all understand the background info, we'll get to rules of the game. Are there any questions before I move on?”

Three hands waved in the air: Rose Tyler's, Molly Hooper’s, and John Watson’s. I clapped my hands together and smiled. 

“None? Fantastic. So, the rules. This game will have six winners, and two runner-ups. The aim of the game is to figure out which one of your companions will be leaving with you as your romantic partner.”

Sam and Dean exchanged disgusted glances and immediately began to voice their objections. 

“Yes, yes, I'm well aware that you're brothers, but there are people out there who ship it regardless.”

The Doctor raised his hand and went ahead with his question before I could start talking again.

“You said the aim was to figure out which of our companions would be our partner by the end of the game?” he asked skeptically.

I nodded.

“The only flaw that I can see is that Rose is my only companion.”

I nodded once more and grinned.

“See, I thought of that. I couldn't get her here in time for introductions, but everyone, say hello to…. River Song!

The Doctor's wife glared at me as she was led into the room, hands tied behind her back.

“I do apologize for the restraints,” I said, frowning. “But you did try to shoot me.”

“Yes but it didn't even hurt you!” she cried indignantly.

“It hurt on the inside,” I replied, clutching my chest dramatically. She rolled her eyes but sighed gratefully when I removed the ropes, and she let one of my ladies guide her to an empty seat near the Doctor.

“Hello, sweetie,” she greeted him, smiling. Rose leaned forward to look her over suspiciously, crossing her arms. The Doctor seemed incredibly uncomfortable, caught between the two women. 

“Does that satisfy your curiosity?” I asked him with a smirk.

He just glared at me.

“Now, as I was going to say, there are five days to this game. The first day, today, will focus on your personalities and letting the audience get to know you. Oh, speaking of, you should know that this is being filmed and will probably be viewed by millions of people. There are a lot of shippers in this world.” I smiled.

“The next day will focus on your connection with your companions. We'll look at things like memorable, repeated phrases, such as Dean and Castiel's ‘profound bond.’ There will also be an evaluation of how you interact together. The third and fourth days will be a surprise, just because I do have to keep you on your toes. What kind of host-or trickster-would I be otherwise? Then the fifth day will be the closer, so the winners will be announced, we'll have a celebration, and then you can all go home and be happy. See? It's not going to be so bad.”

Dean snorted, obviously disagreeing. 

*****

I smoothed the front of my suit jacket as the lights began to flare and the curtain began to rise. The chair that I was sitting in was comfortable, and the delighted roar of the audience was intoxicating. Honestly, I was looking forward to the fun ahead of me. 

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen,” I declared, grinning in the direction of the camera, standing behind the crowd. The timer projected onto the wall behind me began counting down from five minutes. “And please welcome our first guest, the Doctor!”

The Time Lord entered the stage, waving awkwardly at the audience that I had created. I stood to welcome him, shaking his hand with a grin before motioning to him that should sit down in the chair next to me.

“So, Doctor. Doctor who?” I asked, knowing that the question would coax a smile out of him. It did.

“Just the Doctor,” he answered, relaxing a bit. 

“And you travel through time and space, correct? In your TARDIS?”

“Yes, that's right.” His smile became looser, more genuine, as he thought about his ship. “TARDIS: time and relative dimension in space. She's a sexy thing.” 

I grinned. 

“She sure is. Now, Doctor, what can you tell me about yourself? Your personality, likes, dislikes…?”

He frowned and fiddled with his tie.

“Actually, I'm not sure. It's been a while since I've had this face, you see. I don't know how or why you took me back to my tenth regeneration. I'd love to learn that trick, though.”

I laughed.

“Sorry, Doc, some stuff you gotta keep to yourself. I took you back to your tenth puberty ‘cause that's the face Rose recognizes, and it's not foreign to Professor Song, either.” 

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, and the timer went off, filling the stage with the soothing, whooshing TARDIS engine sound. We both stood and shook hands once more, and then he left the stage to a round of applause from the audience. The timer reset itself.

“Next up, we have Castiel, my baby bro! Come on up, Cassie!”

Castiel stiffly entered the stage and the timer began to run.

“So, Cas, tell us about yourself,” I prompted.

“But why? This audience is merely an illusion that you've created to further the delusion that is this game,” Castiel protested, frowning in confusion.

“That doesn't mean that our online viewers are fake!” I cried, laughing at my brother's confused nature.

“Oh. Well, I am an Angel of the Lord. I pulled Dean from perdition, and have made several mistakes since then and have spent most of my time trying to rectify my blunders, though they all stemmed from good intentions. I have murdered hundreds of my brothers, and this is getting tedious, Gabriel, can I just go now?”

I snorted and nodded, although the timer still had two minutes left. Castiel stood and exited the stage in the same stiff fashion. The timer reset and I called the next name.

“Now please welcome, Molly Hooper!”

Molly walked onto the stage hesitantly, her cheeks pink. I rose and bowed before showing her to her seat and taking my own.

“So, Ms. Hooper, tell us about yourself. I’m sure we’re all dying to find out more about our favorite shy violet.” I smiled pleasantly and leaned back.

“W-well, I work at Bart’s. Of course, you already knew that…” She trailed off with a nervous giggle, hands twisting in her lap. “Uh, I’m 31, and my cat’s name is Toby. He’s a real sweetheart, you know. Never scratches or bites, unless you step on his tail.” All this rushed out in one breath, and she paused to refill her lungs. 

“I’ve had a few boyfriends over the years-”

The crowd cut her off with a loud “BOO!” that startled her, judging by the alarmed way her head snapped to glance at them, and the way she blanched. 

“Dear, they’re not booing you,” I said gently, “they want you to be with Sherlock. They’re booing your past flings.”

“Oh, o-okay,” she stammered, still spooked. When the timer went off, sending strains of the Bee Gees’s “Stayin’ Alive” floating through the auditorium, Molly looked relieved and faint. We both rose again and I bowed again as she bolted off the stage. 

“You all should remember yesterday, and the introduction of our contestants? Well, have we got a surprise for you, folks! We have one more contestant to introduce! Let’s make some noise for Professor River Song!”

River stalked onto the stage, glaring at me as she came. Honestly, I was almost afraid that she had somehow stolen her gun back and was waiting for the right moment to shoot me, even if it wouldn’t do any harm.  
“River, tell us about yourself?”

She turned her head, one eyebrow raised. It was the perfect embodiment of an “are you fucking serious right now?” face, and I sighed internally. 

“Please?” I coaxed, leaning forward. She rolled her eyes, but began to speak.

“I’m an archaeologist. My parents are Amelia Pond and Rory Williams, and I won’t say anything else.”

“Why not?”

“Spoilers,” she snapped bitterly, folding her arms over her chest. 

I frowned, nodded to the set manager, and the timer went off, even though there were still four minutes left. River left the stage the same way she had entered: as though she was trying to cause the floor physical harm. Obviously she was less than thrilled about being here. 

“Well, ahem, our next contestant is Sam Winchester. Come on out, Samsquatch!”

I turned to laugh in the direction of the audience, but when I looked back at Sam walking anxiously over to me, I was floored. Some idiotic stagehand had wrestled him into a suit and styled his hair. It took me a minute to remember that I had a job to do.

“Uh- right, so, Sam. H-how about you tell us some stuff about you?” 

Sam started to talk, but I honestly didn’t catch any of it. I was drifting away on the sound of that heavenly voice, getting high on the sight of that handsome face. When the timer went off, blasting the chorus of “Carry on My Wayward Son” through the speakers, it shook me out of my daze and I jumped up just in time to stutter, “Y-yes, thank you, Sam.”

He gave me one last confused glance as he walked away.

“Um, yes, so next contestant. John Watson, everyone!”

It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but I spaced out on most of the rest of the interviews. I remember that John Watson carried himself as though he was in battle, and that Dean couldn’t stop his leg from quivering nervously. Rose answered smoothly, and seemed to be the most at ease out of everyone. And then it was Sherlock’s turn. When he ambled over to me, I knew that he planned n turning this into a battle of wits. I groaned. My wits were still somewhere over the Pacific, obsessing over the perfection of Samuel Winchester. 

I doled out the question that was honestly getting a bit tiring and got silence in answer.

“Sherlock,” I prodded, not really in the mood for the silent treatment. He raised an eyebrow at the hint of warning in my voice, but still said nothing. I inclined my head towards him and saw the shock in his eyes as words began to spill from his lips.

“I occupy 221B Baker Street with John Watson. I’m a former drug addict, and just a few years ago I discovered that I have a heart. My nemesis, Moriarty, threatened several of my friend’s lives, and I was forced to fake my own suicide to save them. I play the violin to let out my feelings, and secretly love to dance.” 

He glared at me, eyes narrowed.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Please exit stage right,” I said jokingly.

There was no interview for me. It would be pretty hard to be both interviewer and interviewee, and I wasn’t about to let anyone else do it. I figured that the audience could see enough of my personality from how I led the events. 

*********

It was almost relaxing to get back to my screen room and watch the contestants as they recuperated from the probing of their personal lives. Sherlock in particular seemed livid, although I understood why. 

He paced around the room while Molly sat in bed reading and John perched on the edge of the table and watched the detective with a concerned expression. Eventually he reached out and caught Sherlock’s arm.

“Sherlock, why don’t you sit down? You’ve been pacing for almost twenty minutes.”

Sherlock scowled.

“I don’t want to sit down, John. I want to think of a way out of here. This is humiliating.”

“It’s not that bad,” John protested.

“John! We’re being held here against our will, held captive by some sort of energetic madman, and you don’t seem to be even remotely alarmed,” Sherlock argued, letting John guide him to the bed anyway. He sat on the edge of the mattress and glared at the doctor.

“Look, the way I see it, we can drag this out and make it even worse than it has to be, or we can play along and get to go home in three more days.”

Reluctantly, Sherlock nodded. 

“So, are you going to sleep tonight?” John asked.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Sherlock grumbled. “I fell asleep last night even though I didn’t mean to. By the way, that couch is extremely uncomfortable.” He shot a withering glare at the camera. 

“What should we do, then?”

Sherlock sighed, as though his next words caused him physical pain. 

“We should go to bed. Molly, is it alright if we turn off the light?”

Molly nodded, and John frowned, confused.

“Alright, so do you want me to take the couch tonight?”

“No, John, for two reasons. First, we need to play along, like you said. This is what the madman wants, apparently. Secondly, that couch would absolutely wreck your back. I won’t put you through that.”

I snickered as they both chuckled and got into the bed on opposite sides, keeping as much distance between them as possible. Molly turned the light off, and eventually both she and John fell asleep. Sherlock lasted for another hour before he drifted off. He spent most of that hour looking over at his doctor thoughtfully. 

*******

When I swiveled to check on them, the Doctor, Rose, and River were standing stock-still in the middle of their room, glaring at each other. Or, rather, Rose and River were glaring at each other, and the Doctor was awkwardly trying and failing to diffuse the tension between them.

Nothing serious came out of the little staring match, just a few harsh words and a lot of silent fuming. By the time they all went to sleep, I thought that the girls seemed to have warmed up to each other at least a little. 

*******

I had decided to mess with Dean and Cas a bit, too. When the hunter and his angel arrived back at the room that they had been sharing with Sam, they found a note telling them that they had been relocated. Grumbling, Dean led the way their new room and froze when he opened the door. It wasn’t much different from their last room, except for the tiny fact that there was only one bed. Maybe it was an overused trick, but the two-people-one-bed stint was rather effective. 

Dean spluttered and cursed, but eventually he did agree to get into the bed with Cas.  
On the condition that they each took separate sides, with a wall of pillows between them.  
Castiel rolled his eyes at the pillow wall, but he just wanted to get to sleep, so he didn’t argue.


	3. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This chapter took me longer than expected, so apologies for the late upload. It might be a little choppy, but I'm proud of it. It contains some spoilers from season two of Doctor Who, season five and on of Supernatural, and season two and on of Sherlock. I hope you enjoy!

I almost whooped when I checked the monitors in the morning. Sherlock and John had gravitated towards each other sometime during the night, and were now intertwined in a position that could only be described as cuddling. It was precious. Sherlock had wrapped his arms around the doctor, his chin resting atop John’s head, and John had his face pressed to Sherlock’s chest, a small smile gracing his lips. 

One of my ladies knocked on the door to call them to breakfast, and both men jolted awake. The next few minutes were predictably filled with blushes, flustered apologies, and quick increases in distance. John woke Molly up and Sherlock escaped into the bathroom to change and dispel the red flush from his cheeks. 

Nothing too monumental had happened with Dean and Castiel yet, although they had gotten closer. Cas had actually broken through the pillow wall with one hand, which rested on Dean’s shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

I swiveled in my chair for a few minutes and laughed happily. My plan was coming together, and right on track, too. The contestants would be arriving in the dining hall soon, so I poofed down, arriving in time to startle John and Molly, who had just walked through the door alongside Sherlock.   
As everyone else filed in and sat, I pulled an agenda out of the air and began to review the day's schedule.

“Where did you get that from?” Molly asked tentatively, pointing at my agenda.

“Oh, this? I created it out of the fabric of reality,” I replied nonchalantly. “Now, on to today's events! We will be basking in the glory of your relationships with your partners today. Rose, River, Doctor, you three are going to beam up first. Since this is a game show, we will be awarding points for reasons unknown to you. Reasons and points will be entirely up to our celebrity judges. Not even I will be a part of the scoring, as I am a participant myself, and that would be extremely unfair. Does everyone understand what I've said so far?”

Everyone nodded.

“Good,” I continued. “So, today we will be putting you through an challenge of sorts to see how you interact with each of your companions. You will each be given a watch with a timer set to twenty minutes. The aim of the game is to escape your challenge before time runs out. Afterwards we'll take a peek at those special sayings that all the shippers relate to your relationship. Now, go get ready. Like I said, Team TARDIS is on first. Judges, one of my ladies will lead you to your table. Today, the game begins!” 

I grinned, even as most of the contestants groaned. 

******

“The challenge has been designed to be completely random. Not even I can predict what will come up. Each team will find, however, that it will tailor itself to replicate one of their normal adventures,” I explained to the audience, rocking on the balls of my feet in anticipation. 

“Our celebrity judges, Captain Jack Harkness and Mr. Ianto Jones, will score the ships based on how our contestants interact with each other during this challenge. Now, are you ready?”

The audience roared assent.

“Then let the first event begin!”

The stage hands pushed the Doctor, Rose, and River out onto the stage, the Doctor clad his usual striped suit and tie with sneakers while Rose had on a tank top, jeans and tennis shoes, and River wore a full-length body suit with boots. They positioned themselves on the red x-es that I had placed on the stage with painter’s tape, and I wished them luck as I snapped my fingers. They vanished, and I called in the next team, Sherlock, John, and Molly.

On the wall behind me, there were three screens. As soon as Team TARDIS had vanished, their image lit up screen one as the cameras in their course switched on. I watched them as Sherlock and co. entered. They were simply taking in their surroundings, the buildings that towered around them and the cars racing past. 

The detective hadn't changed his clothes since that morning. He still wore his billowing coat and scarf. John still had on a jumper and black pants, and for Molly a simple long-sleeved shirt with jeans. They stood on the x-es and vanished when I snapped. 

The second screen brightened to show the three standing in 221B wearing matching expressions of shock and confusion. Even Sherlock couldn't seem to fathom why they had apparently been transported back home, when the game was clearly far from over. 

Dean, Castiel, and Sam walked on, and I gave the camera a playful wave as I moved to stand next to my brother. One snap and we were gone. We landed somewhere entirely unfamiliar to me, but the other three gasped and were drinking in the sight around them as though they had come home. 

“Where are we?” I asked hesitantly, feeling doubt stir in my gut. Here, I didn't have any control. I couldn't even use my Grace. Here, I was no longer as sure of myself. 

Sam seemed to sense this. He grinned and motioned to the spacious room surrounding us while Dean headed over to a table that sat in front of one long, winding staircase.

“This is the Men of Letter’s bunker,” he explained, “which is where Dean and Cas and I have been hiding out when we're not on cases. It's like a home to us.” 

“Sam, Cas, Gabriel, take a look at this,” the elder Winchester called, holding up a slip of paper and pointing out four watches that sat on the table. 

“Yes, those must be our timers, and the paper has our hint,” I said, taking one of the watches to buckle onto my wrist. The others followed suit. The watches, digital, read: 0:30 and counting.

Dean scanned the paper silently with a frown.

“Well? Are you gonna read it or what?” Sam finally asked, impatient. 

“It's weird. Look.” 

He shoved the paper at us. On it, in neat handwriting, it said:

Everything closes in the end.  
A breach 10:00  
A crypt 15:00  
A coffin 19:00  
Your doors

Breach was written in blue. Crypt was written in red. Coffin was underlined with yellow. 

“Breach has got to be there for the Doctor,” I blurted. “It's blue. That's his color.”

“Who's red for, then?” Dean demanded, but I could only shake my head. 

“I don't know.”

“Okay, then let's look at the words. Have we ever done anything associated with a crypt?” Sam asked. 

“Sam, we've broken into thousands of crypts,” Dean replied, sounding frustrated.

Suddenly, Castiel paled. His hands tightened into fists, and his breathing quickened. 

“Cas? What's wrong?” Dean took hold of his friend’s shoulder, offering comfort for whatever unknown terror was affecting his angel. 

“Crypt,” Castiel breathed, eyes raising to meet Dean's, panicked blue locking onto confused green. “Crypt. Tablet. N-Naomi.”

The effect of the name was instantaneous. Dean’s eyes darkened, and he pulled Cas closer to him. 

“We can't go there,” he declared angrily. 

“If that's our way out, Dean,” Sam replied grimly, “we have to.”

Dean didn't look happy, but he didn't argue any further about the destination.

*******

While the boys scurried around, packing whatever weaponry they thought we might need, I closed my eyes to check on the other teams. Thanks to my archangel-awesomeness, I could look through the divides between us and see what they were, and had been doing. 

The Doctor, Rose, and River hadn't gotten very far. They had found their watches and hint, but apparently they hadn't figured it out yet. When I tuned in, Rose and Professor Song were arguing. Rather loudly.

“Ours has to be the blue one,” Rose was insisting, crossing her arms over her chest to glare at the other woman. 

“That would seem to be the obvious answer, but when has the Doctor ever had anything to do with a breach?” River shot back, mimicking Rose's pose until the Doctor awkwardly interjected.

“Actually, I do think Rose is right.”

Both women immediately turned, Rose grinning and River glaring. The Doctor shrunk back under Professor Song’s withering glance, but he continued.

“Remember, Rose? The breach, Torchwood, Cybermen, Daleks?” he prodded, nodding when her eyes widened. 

“Well, let’s go, then,” River snapped impatiently. “We’re wasting time.”

“What do you mean?” Rose asked. “Do we have a time limit?”

River thrust the slip of paper at her.

“Look, at the bottom. It says ‘your doors.’ And there are times next to the hints. Obviously there are certain times that we need to find our way out.”

Rose paled. “Let’s get going, then.”

*******

Sherlock, John, and Molly were having more luck, although I really didn't expect anything less. Sherlock was already sifting through possible situations that they had faced relating to a coffin. Since all of their cases involved death, this was a fairly lengthy process. 

John had retrieved his gun from his bedside drawer and tucked it into his pocket. He sank into his chair to let Sherlock work out the puzzle. Molly settled onto the couch.

“It would have been related to the death of someone close to us,” Sherlock finally said, sitting up and checking his watch. 

0:45

“Maybe it's the aquarium?” Molly suggested quietly, glancing at John. The doctor stiffened, but he shook his head. 

“I don't think so. Mary's death really only involved Sherlock and me. Wouldn't it be something we all had a hand in?” John mused, looking to Sherlock for his reaction.

The detective nodded slowly, clasping his hands together under his chin. 

“I know where we need to go,” he said softly, gaze fixed on the ceiling. “You're not going to like it.”

“Well, where?” John leaned forward in his chair and Molly perked up. 

“Bart’s. Specifically, the roof.”

Immediately, John stiffened, and Molly gasped. 

“Why? Why there?” John asked, hands clenching into fists. 

“I don't know, John,” Sherlock said gently. “But we have to go.”

*******

The entrance to the crypt was dark and foreboding, and Castiel was staring at the door as though he expected it to explode any second. Of course, knowing this world's unpredictability as I did, I knew that it was quite within the realm of possibility. 

Sam pried the door open and we descended, Dean in front and the moose holding up the back, both brothers clutching their guns. Castiel and I both gripped angel blades. Eventually, I have to say I was a bit disappointed at the lack of a challenge presenting itself. The entire hallway was quiet and suspiciously explosive-free. 

Near the end of the tunnel was a cracked, old stone door. Castiel shivered at the sight of it, but he didn’t slow, instead tightening his fist around his weapon. His knuckles were beginning to turn white. 

No one else seemed willing to approach the door, so I pushed out of my place in our little formation and pushed on the stone. It slid open to reveal the room behind it, grating against the floor beneath it, hinges creaking. The room itself wasn’t very intimidating. Sure, it was a little dark, little moldy, and it smelled like something - well, many things - had died there, but none of that had much of an effect on me. The thing that made me stumble back, mouth gaping, was the figure sitting in the middle of the slimy stone floor. 

“Lucifer,” I breathed, barely even noticing when strong, gentle hands caught my waist, ceasing my poor attempt at escape. I knew that it was Sam. Dean and Castiel were standing to my side, each glaring at the man now rising to his feet. 

“Hello, brothers, Winchesters,” he greeted, smirking. He spread his arms wide. “Welcome to your obstacle!”

“Gabe,” Sam whispered, lips brushing against my ear, even if it was hardly the time to appreciate the feeling. “That’s not really Lucifer, right?”

“No, no, it shouldn’t be,” I murmured back. “Lucifer should still be locked away in the Cage. This has to be an illusion created by the world.”

“He looks pretty damn real to me,” Dean hissed. “How do we kill him?”

“I-I don’t know,” I stuttered, still recovering from the shock of being face-to-face with whatever this was that bore the face of my brother, the very entity that had killed me. Sam squeezed my shoulder and then let go, stepping away to prepare his gun. I swayed, missing the comforting steadiness that the Winchester had provided. Dean looked down at the watch on his wrist and scowled.

“6:20. We need to figure something out while we still have time.”

*********

“Doctor? Who is that man?” Both Rose and River gazed in curiosity at the man blocking their path who had yet to speak. The Doctor stared at him with a mixture of reverence and fear, and Rose could almost see the war in his head as he fought for the ability to speak.

“He calls himself the Master,” he finally got out, tearing his eyes away from the figure to fix them on Rose. “He’s a Time Lord who went insane from prolonged exposure to the Time Vortex.”

The man - the Master - laughed. It was a chilling sound that rattled their bones and pierced their minds, carving out a spot for itself in the name of nightmare fuel. 

“Yes, Doctor. It is, indeed, little old me. Oh, I bet your life has been so boring since I left. Let’s remedy that, shall we?” 

“How are you here?” the Doctor demanded, voice trembling.

“Doctor, my Doctor, really, I’m surprised and a bit disappointed.” The Master tsked. “I’m not really here. I am an illusion. Part of the game. You have to pass me to get to your way out, which should be leaving soon, as you have, mmm, about three minutes left.”

River’s eyes widened and her eyes shot to her wrist. 

“Doctor, he’s right. We’re at 6:50,” she warned. 

“See? You’d better think fast, Doctor dear, unless you want to be stuck here, with me.” The Master grinned, lips curling over his teeth, the pearly whites glinting menacingly even in the low light of the building. 

*********

The wind was brittle and carried a warning nip. Fall was coming, in this reality, at least. John shivered and pulled his jacket closer around himself, eyeing Sherlock’s Belstaff with a twinge of envy. The detective scanned the rooftop with something like anticipation, as though he were scouting for a hidden enemy. When someone stepped out from behind the stairway door, however, Sherlock took a shocked step back. 

Jim Moriarty mirrored Sherlock’s surprised face, adding in a twist of his lips to make his sarcasm clear. 

“Welcome back to the game, Sherlock,” he called, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Did you miss me?”

“But t-that’s not possible. You are not possible!” Sherlock staggered backwards, blinking in surprise when two pairs of hands caught his arms. John held him silently, glaring at Moriarty, while Molly trembled, looked terrified but determined. No, not terrified, angry. She wasn't shivering in fear, she was shaking with barely suppressed rage. 

They both looked ready to kill, and Sherlock believed both of them capable. 

The target of their murderous intent rocked back nonchalantly on the balls of his feet, a smug grin twisting his lips.

“Oh, Sherlock, you disappoint me. I'm not really Jim Moriarty. I'm simply an illusion, a copy, if you like. I'm everything that he was, the charm, the looks, the psychotic, brilliant mind, but I am not him,” the Moriarty replica explained. “I am your obstacle. Neither you nor any other team can get past until each team can answer a question. Why here? Of all the possible sites, this place was chosen to provide you your escape. Why?”

“Because this was the site of our greatest tragedy yet,” Sherlock answered icily. “This is where I betrayed my friends and reached my lowest point. This is where John's heartbreak began, and where Molly had to aid me in faking my death. I'm sure imagining the real pain was enough to hurt her.” 

“It's always about pain with you, isn't it?” the Jim-copy sneered, crossing his arms.

“No, not always. Sometimes it's about victory. Now step away and let us through,” John snapped, before Sherlock had the chance to reply. 

“Can't. That was the wrong answer, Johnny Boy. Would you care to take a whack at the puzzle?”

John stared, awestruck, the words wrong answer striking him speechless. Sherlock never got the wrong answer. If Sherlock bloody Holmes couldn't answer correctly, then how could he even hope to try?

“Tick tock, John,” not-Moriarty warned.

Right. John checked his watch: 7:25. 

*********

“What? How the hell should we know why this place is our way outta this insane game?” Dean snapped at the illusion of Lucifer, bristling. I swore he was one step away from a snarl. 

Luci shrugged.

“That's not my problem. It's yours. So you'd better figure it out.”

“How ‘bout I just shoot you and literally get out through your dead body?”

“How ‘bout I kill Castiel and laugh when your bullets don't even tickle?” Lucifer took a menacing step towards the angel. Dean threw out both hands in a placating gesture.

“No! No, I'll play your stupid fucking game.” The hunter glared at me, probably happily picturing how I would look sans head. 

“We're here because this is where Dean's love broke me out of Naomi's mind control,” Castiel said softly, eyes fixed steadily on the ground; although he still flinched when Dean spun to stare at him.

“Bingo! Congrats, Castiel, you've got this whole game figured out and working in your favor.” Lucifer grinned, winked, and then disappeared. 

Castiel practically flew into the next room, still avoiding Dean's gaze like the plague. It only took him a few seconds to come back clutching a CD labeled: insert in slot S. 

********

The Doctor was laughing. It was so bizarre, even the Master seemed to be wondering about his well-being.

Finally, he managed to speak through his laughter.

“I'm sorry, it's just, I thought this was going to be hard. It's not exactly a challenge. This place is where I lost Rose. This place is where my hearts broke. But it's also where this city was saved. This is a place of victory, and it's where I realised the depths of my feelings for Rose.”

“Fine. You win. Congratulations,” the Master said reluctantly, vanishing.

Rose whooped and ran ahead into the room. River stared after her with narrowed eyes. 

“Doctor!” Rose's gleeful shout sent them both sprinting, and the Doctor laughed out loud at the beautiful sight of his TARDIS, pressing a kiss to the blue door before pushing it open. Both women followed him inside, letting out twin sighs of relief at the familiar exterior, though the Doctor frowned.

“My TARDIS has been taken back two regenerations too,” he mused, stroking the console. “Unless…”

The doors slammed shut behind them, and the familiar, usually soothing whooshing noise surrounded them. Rose shrieked and River shot a glance at her watch.

10:00

*******

“The answer has to be emotional. Considering both this place and the nature of the game that we are playing, there is no other explanation,” Sherlock murmured, almost to himself. 

“But your answer was emotional,” Molly protested.

“Oh, wrong emotions. Of course! This entire game has been about one thing. Love.” Sherlock scowled.

“What do you mean by love?” John asked quietly. 

“Love is why I fell. Moriarty had snipers ready to shoot you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson if I didn't jump,” Sherlock answered. “I couldn't let you die. I took the fall to save you. That's why this is our exit.”

Moriarty pouted, crossing his arms like a child.

“Okay, fine. I'll go. But I'll see you later, Sherlock. In your dreams.” He grinned wolfishly and vanished. 

Sherlock let out a breath. “John, time?” 

“14:50.” 

The tone of his doctor’s voice was alarming. It trembled slightly, and too late Sherlock realised that he had never told John about the snipers. They still had five minutes and ten seconds. He really wasn't looking forward to them.

********

As whooshing noise filled the crypt, and we all stumbled back as the blue outline of the TARDIS appeared in the center of the room. It solidified and the door slowly creaked open.

Dean, Sam, and Castiel all raised their weapons, but the Doctor poked his head out and grinned.

“Boys. So happy to see you. Of course, I'd be happier if you'd put the guns away.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean complied and left the others to follow his example. 

“Good. Now come on in,” the Doctor said, retreating back into his box. Wanting to waste no time, I followed, and heard quick footsteps behind me as my team raced after us. 

Two of us four gasped and swiveled, taking in the amazing control room. I'll give you a hint. Neither of them were angels. 

The Doctor bounded across the room, grinning now, pushing this button and that, throwing switches, turning dials, setting us a course for Chuck knows where. But when he pulled the final level, slamming it to the console for added effect, nothing happened. His face fell. 

“Doctor? What's wrong?” Rose asked timidly, stepping up next to him.

“She's not responding. It's like there's something keeping her here, keeping her from going anywhere, unless maybe there's a certain place that we need to get to.”

“Ooh! Cassie, the CD!” I called, taking the disk from Castiel. “Doc, is there a slot S?”

“Yes, but… where will this take us?”

“Only one way to find out,” River said, suggestion evident in her tone.

The Doctor nodded and slid the disk into a slot marked with a silver S.

*********

“John, for the last time, I didn't think it was important!”

“You didn't think it was important? You didn't think it was important to tell me that you did all that to save my life when I was beating you bloody? Sherlock Holmes, for all your genius, you can be such an idiot!”

“Well when you put it that way, it does seem that telling you would have been reasonable, but I didn't want to burden you with that knowledge. It's over. Let's not fight about the past and just focus on the present, please. It's 19:20. I think I know how we escape, but you're not going to like it.”

“What do you mean?” 

Instead of answering, the detective stepped up onto the ledge of the roof. 

“Sherlock?”

Both John and Molly stepped towards him, hand out as if they could catch him if he did what they feared.

“This is the way,” Sherlock said simply. And then he leaned. His feet slipped off of the concrete, and his coat billowed up around his legs as he plummeted, eyes squeezed shut, arms out like wings spread in hopes of flight. 

John cried out while Molly shrieked. They saw him fall and fall and fall - and vanish. 

Then an arm clad in a familiar black coat sleeve appeared out of thin air and beckoned to them. 

“Jesus,” John whispered, relief warring with faint fear for dominance of his tone. 

“We have to jump?” Molly frowned, backing away.

“Molly, I don't know what's down there, but whatever it is, it caught Sherlock. And if I know that bloody git, he's standing there with a smug grin, waiting for us to follow him so he can gloat. So, yes, we have to jump.”

Shaking, Molly nodded and climbed up onto the ledge. She exhaled as she crossed her arms over her chest and let gravity take her. John watched her descend until she disappeared, and then took his place on the ledge, heart hammering. He closed his eyes and jumped. 

One minute wind was ruffling his short hair and tearing at his eyelids; the next, cool hands were lifting him up from a cold, grated floor, and he could hear Sherlock asking if he was alright.

“I'm fine, yeah.” Reluctantly, he forced his eyes open and took in the sight before him. 

It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, and considering his life with Sherlock, that was saying something. A round console sat in the center of a huge room surrounded by a railing that branched off, supposedly leading to different rooms. 

“Welcome aboard.” A smiling man in a striped suit, blue tie, and sneakers bounded over to them, grinning. John vaguely remembered his moniker to be the Doctor. 

“Yes, thank you. Where are we?” John replied, gesturing faintly to their surroundings. 

“Ah, yes, this is my ship. TARDIS. Stands for time and relative dimension in space. She's going to get us out of here.” No one else noticed the, “Hopefully,” that he muttered under his breath. 

While the Doctor started working his magic on the console, John turned to face Sherlock, and rolled his eyes when he saw the predicted grin. 

“So. I was right.”

“You're always right, Sherlock, you don't need to rub it in.”

********

The Doctor's ship was as miraculous as he obviously saw it, going off of the reverence with which he treated her. We opened the doors to reveal my cheering audience and our two celebrity judges. Jack smirked, and Ianto seemed impressed. We all stumbled out onto the stage, and I smiled wearily. 

“Thank you for that enthusiastic welcome back. Unfortunately, the events of this trial have taken more out of me than expected, and I'm sure my fellow contestants could say the same. We'll have to cut this stage of our program short to allow us some time to recuperate.”

The audience sat in confused silence. I hadn't programmed them to respond to anything like this, but I was still rattled. I hated being powerless. And being powerless, face to face with Lucifer… I needed a break.

I waved my hand quickly and the curtains swooped shut. 

“Everyone, back to your rooms,” I declared. “Eat, rest, get your energy back. If you need me, find somebody else to deal with your problem.” 

I vanished.


	4. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late upload, I've been pretty busy this week. Anyway, this chapter contains Spoilers for season four of Doctor Who. I hope you enjoy!

I met morning with a groan and a lingering sense of dread. Dread that slowly began to ebb away when I remembered my plans for the day. Just imagining Dean's face once he saw what I had planned gave me the strength to spring to my feet, excitement coursing through my veins once more. 

I lept out of my room and bounded down the hallways to my viewing room, too excited to even use my Grace. 

It was perfectly orchestrated chaos. 

Dean didn't even notice that anything was off until he ambled over to the bathroom to respond to the call of nature. It was clear by the horrified shriek that he had either glanced in the mirror or had been made aware of the changes down south. 

Castiel was on his feet in an instant, roused by his hunter's distress, but when he reached the bathroom door, it was flung open from the inside to crack against the wall, revealing Dean in the doorway, clothes hanging loosely from his body, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving as he tried desperately to calm himself. Well… herself. His/her once short hair now cascaded over thin shoulders, framing delicate features and green eyes that were blinking open to glare accusingly at the angel, who was staring with barely concealed confusion, and a hint of amazement.

“Why are you still a guy?” Dean winced at the sound of her voice, now soft and lilting, although her tone lent a sharp edge to the words.

“Well, Gabriel does hold more of a grudge against you than me. I warned you about being overly sarcastic with him.”

“This is a bit of an overreaction! He turned me into a chick!” Dean huffed and brushed past Castiel, heading for the door to the hallway. Cas rushed after him, and they both left, Cas making sure that the door shut softly behind them. 

I turned, face lit like a child on Christmas, to face the other monitor. To face the glorious debacle that was Sherlock and John as they woke, again wrapped in each other's arms. John was still half asleep when the stirrings of the detective roused him, and in his muddled state of mind, he softly kissed Sherlock’s forehead before falling back asleep, even as the detective jolted upwards to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“John? You’re disproportionate. Get up, I have to know why you're taller than me now. And what is wrong with my voice?” The deep baritone was gone, replaced by a silvery flutter. 

“I dunno, luv, ‘m still tired,” John mumbled, cracking his eyes open to see the woman kneeling next to him gaping in his direction. Which was strange, because he didn't remember meeting this woman, though her face was vaguely familiar. And now that he really started to put his sleep-laden brain to work, he remembered where he was, and who he was supposed to be with.

“Where's Sherlock?” he demanded, immediately bolting upright. 

The woman's face twisted with confusion and she laid a hand on his arm, which he instantly shook off.

“I'm right here, John,” she replied, and suddenly he saw the resemblance, and wished he couldn't. It was the cheekbones. The goddamn cheekbones now accented by curled black hair, and the eyes that always seemed to look right through him, analysing and picking apart his entire being. 

“What, so you're a woman now?” 

“Apparently.”

“And you're just okay with that, are you?”

“There's not much I can do, so I might as well be.”

John groaned and stood up. 

“I'm going to wake Molly up so we can go down to the dining hall. I want some answers.”

Sherlock nodded, and when John turned, he missed the detective slowly raising a hand to gingerly touch her forehead. 

Overjoyed with how well this was turning out, I turned my attention to the second to last monitor. This one had been more of a challenge, deciding who to genderbend, but I had eventually decided on the Doctor. He was the main victim, after all. So when the Time Lord woke, it was in an oversized suit jacket (he had apparently been too tired to change when he went to bed) with shoulder-length hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. 

The change didn't seem to faze her, instead she seemed amused. Especially when her companions woke. 

“Why exactly are you a woman now?” Rose asked, not as shocked as she was confused.

The Doctor shrugged.

“Must be part of our host's game.”

“Quite right,” I muttered to myself, finally turning to check the last screen. What I didn't expect was to see Samsquatch sitting up in bed, stretching his arms into the air to yawn, handsome, but still very male. 

I leaned forward, confused, and then found myself coughing, surrounded by a cloudy, scentless smoke. When it cleared, I knew exactly what to expect when I glanced down at my chest. And lo and behold, I was right. 

********

Despite her own situation, Dean snickered when I appeared in the dining hall, my hair now shoulder length from where I chopped it off.

“Haha, laugh all you want, Winchester. You're a chick now too, you know, so I can laugh back,” I snapped.

Dean just smirked.

“Today we will be pushing the boundaries. Since I want your surprise to be genuine, I'm not telling any of you what you're doing,” I said smugly, noting with satisfaction that Dean and Sherlock adopted twin frowns. 

“So, what, we're just going to stand on some stage and wait for something to happen?” Dean complained, balling her hands into fists at her side. 

“No. You're going to sit in your rooms and wait for something to happen,” I answered snarkily, relishing in the barely controlled rage that darkened her features. Castiel laid a hand on her arm, but she shook it off with a warning glare.

“That seems a bit boring for the viewers. They won't be able to see us if anything does happen,” the Doctor pointed out, missing Sherlock’s soft snort of amusement. 

“Oh, trust me, they will. Now, my ladies will show you back, and you'll wait for the fun to begin.”

I vanished before they could start protesting, but something went wrong. I was aiming for my viewing room, but I landed in Sam's bathroom, gazing around me in shocked confusion before letting myself out into the bedroom. And who should be sitting on the bed but the handsome moose himself, immediately sitting up straight when I came out, eyes flickering quickly over the length of my body. 

“Gabe,” he began, apparently not noticing my pleasant shiver at the nickname, “what are you doing in my room?”

“I-I don't know,” I answered, silently cursing my loss of the ability of speech. “Something went wrong when I teleported, I don't know what happened.”

He motioned me over, patting the bed next to him in invitation, and I cursed inwardly as my heart skipped a beat. He was just so beautiful. 

Beautiful, breathtaking, perfection, the reason that the sun and the stars grace the earth, I thought, not realizing that I had blanked out.

“Gabe?”

I startled myself out of my thoughts.

“Sorry. I've got a busy brain.” And it was short-circuiting. I couldn't even hear what Sam was saying anymore, though he saw the hunter's lips moving. What was wrong with me? The world was swimming, and shadows were creeping up on the edges of my vision, teasing with the promise of darkness before swallowing me whole.

*******

Dean was pacing around the room, ignoring Castiel, who watched her silently from the bed. 

“I'm not just going to wait here until something happens,” she growled, stalking over to the door and grabbing the handle to tug it open. “What the hell? It's locked!”

“What did you expect, Dean?” Castiel sighed. 

There was no answer.

“Dean?”

Silence.

“Dean!”

“I'm fine! I'm fine, I'm sorry, I was thinking.” Dean trudged back towards Castiel. The angel didn't miss the way those green eyes fluttered down to stare at his lips. 

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“Yeah. Just frustrated.” 

To Castiel's shock, Dean walked over to sit next to him on the bed and laid her head on his shoulder. Cas must have tensed, because Dean muttered, “Sorry,” and pulled away.

“No, it's fine. You just… startled me.”

Dean nodded, slowly lowering her head back to Cas's shoulder. It was still strange, as Dean wasn't really prone to displays of affection, but Castiel liked it. It really was bizarre, though. Dean was so opposed to any and all ‘chick flick moments.’ Not to mention the fact that anytime anyone implied that the hunter might be even remotely gay, or even bisexual, he tended to run for the hills. Apparently he didn't want to embrace the rainbow just yet. But here he (well, she) was now, head resting peacefully on Cas's shoulder. She even had a hand on the angel's knee. 

Castiel had to wonder why. Was it the change in gender? Most of the time, females did tend to be more open about embracing and showing emotion. Men were more likely to repress them, something that Dean referred to as being manly. Castiel had never understood that. 

He would have been perfectly content to continue to sit there, contemplating the differences between the sexes, but he was suddenly becoming very aware of the fact that Dean's hand was getting dangerously close to his no-zone. 

“Dean,” he said softly, wondering if it was an accident.

“Mm?” The hunter's eyes fluttered open and a coy smile lit her face. “Cas, what's wrong?”

“Your hand is, um, getting a little intrusive.”

He yelped when she squeezed his leg.

“What're you-?” Dean cut him off by surging forward to capture his lips. Instantly, Castiel knew that this wasn't his Dean. He wrenched himself away, backing up slowly, hand outstretched in a ‘stop’ signal. 

“You're not Dean,” he accused breathlessly, still feeling the echo of the kiss nonetheless. 

“Oh, I am,” Dean replied. “I've just been stripped of all restraint. This is me in my purest form. Think about it, Cas. There's nothing holding me back from admitting my love for you.”

“No, this is a trick. Y-you’re possessed, or drugged, or something. Dean Winchester doesn't love me. Not in the way that I love him.” He was forced to stop as his back hit the wall, but Dean kept coming, eyes gleaming with a mix of emotions that Castiel couldn't decipher.

“I'm not possessed. My tattoo is still intact.” She pulled down her shirt collar to expose the tattoo, still in perfect shape. “As for drugs… well, you're an angel. Test me.” 

Her hands snaked over Castiel's shoulders, and her nose bumped his as she leaned in, either not noticing, or choosing to disregard Cas's wide, slightly terrified eyes. 

*******

“I blame you for this.”

“I blame our insane host.”

“Well, no shit, Sherlock, but it's your fault that I'm in here with you.”

“How is it my fault that some unseen force pushed you into this closet with me?”

“Because… because… oh, I'll think of some reason.”

Sherlock smirked slightly, knowing that John couldn't see it in the dim light. 

“That's what I thought.”

“Sherlock, I know you're wearing that bloody irritating smirk. I can't see it, but I know.”

“Sorry, John.” 

John nodded and tried to lean backwards to make more space. He could have sworn that this closet was roomy when he first saw it, but now there was barely enough room for the both of them, resulting in the very uncomfortable position that they were currently stuck in, with their chests pressed together and arms slung over the other’s shoulders, as the closet was too shallow for them to hang at their sides. 

“Molly should be back from the dining hall by now.”

“Just about. We did leave earlier than her. Why, do you want her to join us in the closet?”

John bristled at the sarcasm in Sherlock’s voice.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I'm simply pointing out that our host chose an interesting metaphor to trap us with.”

“I'm not in the closet.”

Sherlock cleared her throat and gave him a pointed look.

“Shut up, you git. I know that I am physically in the closet. I mean, I'm not gay.”

“Sure you're not, John, but you know that there's only one way out of this.”

John huffed and turned his head away, glaring at the walls enclosing them. 

“I can't. I know that you're technically a woman now, but you're still Sherlock. Besides, kissing you in this form would just be wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because it's not really you. You're tall, and muscled, and you have short curls. Your lips are fuller-” John cut himself off, blushing furiously, because it's not normal for a straight man to comment on another man's lips. And John Watson is straight. Yessir, 100%. Well… maybe 99%. Because apparently he does have a bit of a thing for smart mouthed consulting detectives with a penchant for danger. Sherlock is his 1%, and suddenly John realizes that it wouldn't be so bad to kiss Sherlock. It might even be good. 

“John? I don't mean to interrupt your already delayed train of thought, but I would very much like to get out of here. If you could stand to, we can kiss and get those doors to open. We don't even have to talk about it after, if you prefer.”

The weary sadness in Sherlock’s tone broke something in John. He cupped the detective’s face in his hands and brought their lips together. 

It wasn't everything that John had thought it would be. Sherlock didn't move or kiss back, simply letting it happen. Her mouth wasn't as soft as John had imagined, and yes, he admitted that he had imagined how Sherlock’s mouth would feel against his own.   
When they broke apart, Sherlock stared dully at John as the door cracked open. Neither moved. 

“Are you okay?” John finally asked, hands still cradling Sherlock’s cheeks.

“I'm fine.” 

“No, you're not.”

Sherlock scowled and pulled away, slipping through the now open closet door. John hesitated for a moment before he followed. 

*********

“Well? It's been hours. Nothing has happened,” River complained from her perch on the corner chair. “I'm getting bored.”

“So you want something horrible to happen?” Rose asked incredulously. 

“No. I want something interesting to happen,” River replied, sighing. “Listen, we all know that this game is pointless. The Doctor already knows who he loves.”

The Doctor nodded silently from where she laid on her back on one of the beds. 

“I'm sorry, River,” she said quietly.

“Don't be. After all, I am technically dead. And I guess in this regeneration, you didn't know me. You didn't love me. You loved Rose. I'm only here for the convenience of a good show,” she said, sounding more tired than angry.

“So what do we do now?” Rose asked.

“We could always watch some telly,” the Doctor suggested.

*******

“Gabe? Gabriel?!”

Distantly, I could hear Sam's voice calling my name. From where I drifted, he sounded panicked, although the sharp edge of the anxiety was worn down by the darkness that carried me. I could almost see his face, but only if I pushed against the current, and it was so much effort. Better to drift. 

_____

Sam didn't want to say that he was panicking, but he was panicking. Gabriel hadn't fainted, he didn't think. She had just fallen back onto the bed, eyes still open, mouth parted just slightly. He knew what he had to do. It was obvious. He just never thought that Gabriel would purposely do… whatever it was that he had done to himself. 

Rolling his eyes - because honestly, if Gabriel had wanted a kiss, the theatrics wouldn't have been necessary - Sam leaned over and pressed his lips to the archangel’s. For a moment, nothing happened, and Sam wondered if he had done something wrong. Then Gabriel's breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered shut and flew back open. Sam pulled away to give Gabe some room, but hands fisted in his shirt made escape difficult, and he found himself trapped in Gabriel's gaze. He swallowed thickly.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, suddenly unable to speak above a murmur.

“I'm fine,” Gabriel answered hoarsely, relaxing. The fists loosened their grip on Sam's shirt and fell to the bed. “How did you know that would work?”

“I figured it would, since this whole game is about getting certain people together.” the younger Winchester's eyes sparkled with humor. “Although really, if you wanted a kiss, you could have just asked.”

“Could I have a kiss?”

Sam laughed and kissed his archangel.

********

“Dean, please stop.” Castiel's voice was unsteady, and the fact that the angel was subtly shaking finally seemed to register to Dean, who took a step back. She had forgotten that Cas still felt uncomfortable in certain situations. Situations much like theirs currently. 

“I-I'm sorry, Cas.” she stuttered, feeling her cheeks flush as all her reservations came rushing back, filling her with guilt and a horrified disgust at the fact that she had basically just tried to force herself on her best friend. She stumbled back further, giving Cas more space and attempting to distance herself from her actions.

Castiel knew at once when Dean was returned to normal. She wouldn't have stopped otherwise, or be backing away with such guilt on her face. 

“It's okay, Dean. That wasn't you.” He smiled reassuringly, trying to convey that there were no hard feelings, but Dean just looked away. This was the Dean that Cas was used to, and so he didn't think anything of it when she excused herself to hurry into the bathroom. Dean dealt with awkward or emotional situations by distancing himself. It was just his nature. So now the hunter would deal with what had just happened in his own way, and they wouldn't speak of it again. That was the norm.

But Dean wasn't dealing with it.

“It wasn't you,” was echoing in her head, taunting her. Because it was. Deep down, under everything else that she had repressed, Dean knew that she did want something with Cas. Even if it wasn't sexual. Although, at the time, sexual had sounded pretty good. 

She groaned.

“I am the biggest screw up in the history of forever,” she whispered harshly. 

The look in Castiel's eyes kept haunting her. He had been shaking. He had been terrified. And she hadn't even noticed. How could she not have noticed? How senseless was she? 

Dean was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the smoke slipping in through the vent in the ceiling until it enveloped her, making her cough as it invaded her lungs. When it cleared, the hunter was once again male. 

It didn't make him feel any better.

*********

Molly had come back from the dining hall about ten minutes ago to find Sherlock pouting silently in the corner, and John sitting on the edge of one of the beds with his head in his hands. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked timidly.

“Sure, everything's just dandy,” was Sherlock’s testy reply. John sighed tiredly.

“Sherlock, be nice,” he called, voice muffled.

Sherlock scowled.

“Okay, I'll just… go, then.” Molly did not want to get caught in the middle of this, because she knew exactly what was coming. The last time the tension between the doctor and the detective was this high, they had gotten into a horrible, raging argument, and Sherlock had sulked for weeks afterward. 

After she left, John sat up.

“Sherlock, what's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“You're pouting.”

“I always pout. Have you really not noticed that by now?”

John sighed.

“I'm just going to say, it was your idea to kiss, you know. And it worked, so you should be proud.”

Sherlock scoffed and turned his head away.

“You obviously didn't think it was such a great idea at the time,” he snapped.

John stared at him. He was used to Sherlock being withdrawn and acting juvenile, as it was Sherlock after all, but usually in those instances, the detective would also complain to high heaven about whatever it was that was annoying or angering him. 

“I actually didn't mind too much,” John finally said, not sure of where this conversation was going anymore.

“Yes you did,” Sherlock argued angrily. “You're so concerned about your precious heterosexuality, John. It'd be amusing if it weren't so annoying. I just don't understand it.” His voice softened. “What's so repulsive about me?”

John instantly stiffened, rose off of the edge of the bed, and walked over to where Sherlock was sitting.

“There is nothing repulsive about you, Sherlock,” he said, taking the detective’s face in his hands so that Sherlock would have to look at him. “I'm just a bloody idiot sometimes.”

That coaxed a small smile from Sherlock.

“You're not an idiot,” he protested. “Not as much so as the rest of them.”

“Them?”

“Everyone else.”


	5. Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took me a bit longer than expected, and it's shorter than I would have liked, but I'm happy with it. There are no spoilers for this chapter. Lots of love for everyone who commented, left kudos, or bookmarked this fic. You're all amazing!

I woke up sleepy, snuggled up against a warm body. It was nice, with my head resting on his chest, and strong arms wrapped around me, one hand embedded in my hair. I was almost tempted to go back to sleep, but I had work to do, as unfortunate as that fact was. 

Regretfully wriggling out of the gentle embrace, I couldn't help but press one last kiss to Sam's forehead before I left the bed. The hunter sighed softly, arms falling into the empty space that I had occupied. I smiled at the sight and quickly wrote him a note explaining my absence. I may be many things, but no one can call me rude. Except maybe Lucifer (although, really, who is he to judge). And Kali. And Dean And… okay, maybe I am a little rude. But not to Sam. 

After placing the note on the nightstand where Sam would see it when he woke, I poofed to my viewing room and watched the footage that I had missed. I winced a little watching Dean and Castiel, and wished that I could reach through the screen and slap John Watson. Admittedly, neither he nor Sherlock had handled that situation too well, but honestly. It was like watching children dancing around their feelings, wondering if the object of their affections could actually “like like” them back. 

It wasn't just the fact that Dr. Watson had apparently just come to terms with his sexuality and its exception, but knowing that even with this information, he would do nothing unless slapped in the face with the fact that yes, Sherlock felt the same way and had for quite some time.

After what Dean would undoubtedly refer to as their “chick flick moment,” smoke filtered into the room via the vents. There had been the predictable moment of panic, and then the smoke had cleared, leaving Sherlock male once again.

John had smirked and told him that he was going to get a shower and then get to bed. Sherlock had nodded.

By the time Molly had returned, both men had fallen asleep, John in the bed, and Sherlock in the same chair, either too stubborn or too lazy to move to the bed. Molly had rolled her eyes fondly at him, thrown a blanket over him, and went to bed herself. 

Now they were beginning to stir. John yawned and stretched, turning to glance at the empty spot next to him, probably missing the body heat that he had gotten used to waking up with. He too rolled his eyes when he spotted Sherlock, but then his face softened and he smiled. The detective had curled up on the arm of the chair, arm bent underneath his head as a pillow. He was snoring quietly. 

*********

Team TARDIS had apparently had an uneventful evening. Not surprising, since they already figured out their answer to my game. If only the other contestants could be so quick to understanding. 

*********

Dean had spent a few more minutes in the bathroom, filling his own head with self-hatred and guilt. Like there wasn't already too much to begin with. 

By the time he came out again, Castiel should have been suspicious. However, surprised as he was by Dean’s gender transfer, he didn't say anything about the waves of bad feeling rolling off the hunter that I knew he could sense. 

Instead he offered him a small smile from where he laid in their shared bed and settled further into the mattress, patting it in an invitation for Dean to join him.

Since I wasn't watching the scene play out in real time, I couldn't hear what Dean was thinking, although I didn't really need to. It was written clearly on his face in confusion and disbelief. He was obviously wondering how trusting Cas had to be to share a bed with him after the events of the day. Still, he laid down facing Castiel and pulled the covers up. He gave the angel a small, if slightly sad smile in return, and was asleep in a few minutes.

For about fifteen minutes, Castiel simply laid there silently, watching Dean with the strange combination of sadness tugging his lips downward, and his eyes softened with something resembling reverence. Adoration. That four letter word beginning with “L” that had become a sort of curse for the Winchesters and company. He stared at Dean as though he were trying to memorize his features, and I wondered if he had missed them when Dean was female. 

When Dean's eyelids started to flutter, signalling that he had entered the REM stage of sleep, Castiel hesitantly reached out and carded a hand through Dean's short hair, freezing when the hunter shifted, although he only let out a soft sigh and turned over. 

Cas relaxed, but he withdrew his hand. 

Now, they were beginning to wake up, both still on their own side. I sighed as I watched them robotically go through their morning motions and then leave the room to head to the dining hall. 

********

No one even looked up when I poofed in. No one except Sam, anyway, who gave me a lovely grin and a wave, which I readily returned, throwing in a wink for good measure. 

“Congratulations, everyone. You've all made it to the fourth day. The events planned for today will be quick, painless, and easy. No emotional turmoil, no embarrassing situations, no cameras - actually, no, there will be all of those things. Sorry.”

I shrugged. 

There were several groans, but no one protested. They were all used to this by now.

“So what are we doing today, then?” John asked, crossing his arms.

“You will be kissing,” I replied nonchalantly, pulling out my clipboard to check the schedule.

“We'll be what?!” That outburst came from Dean. 

“Kissing. Snogging. Making out. Really, Winchester, I would think you'd know what kissing was. You've certainly done enough of it.”

The older hunter turned beet red. 

“What if we don't want to kiss anybody, hmm?” Sherlock asked, although his voice was soft. Both John and Molly looked momentarily hurt.

I groaned exasperatedly and poofed my clipboard away with an angry flick of the wrist.

“Listen, smartass. You're here because you do in fact have feelings for one of your traveling companions, and don't have the balls to admit it. So if I were you, I'd realize that this is the perfect opportunity to tell that certain person how you feel, once you see that they are just as infatuated with you as you are with them,” I growled. “I have granted you an amazing chance to actually kiss - and I mean full mouth on mouth action here - the person of your heart's desire, and you question it? How smart are you really, Mr. Holmes?”

“Now,” I continued, “You're all going to march your sorry asses onto that stage and sit in the chairs assigned to you. Then you’re going to shut up and do what I say, when I say. Is that understood?”

There was a unanimous consent. My tone was too harsh for any other result. 

*********

Under the stage lights once again, the audience caught up to speed on the day's events, I motioned to Jack and Ianto, sitting at the judge's table. They both looked pretty peeved, most likely from the fact that they had spent yesterday locked in a room with almost nothing to do. Whoops.

“How about a little preview from our judges?” I suggested, grinning. They both seemed to have given up on trying to guess why I did or asked them to do anything, so they simply did as I asked, leaning in and connecting with a chaste kiss. 

“Aw, is that all?” I prodded, layering in just the right amount of implication.

Evidently they understood, if the way that Jack rolled his eyes and gripped Ianto by the tie to crash their lips together was anything to go off of. The audience whooped and hollered, almost making me wince at their enthusiasm and cheer. 

“Thank you, Mr. Jones and Captain Harkness. Now, what you've all been waiting for. Please, come forward, Team TARDIS!”

The Doctor, Rose, and River silently moved to the front of the stage, looking awkward under the bright, glaring lights as they squinted out into the audience, obviously unsure of what they were supposed to be doing. 

“Rose, Doctor?” I prodded, smirking a bit. They moved to meet each other, each painfully aware of the eyes that were watching them. The Doctor put a hand to Rose’s cheek and gently pulled her to him. The audience screamed as they kissed.

Rose pulled back first, smiling and slightly dazed. 

“River, you’re up,”I called, ignoring the glare that all three contestants threw my way. 

“No,” River said. She turned and walked back to her seat, leaving no room for argument. I didn’t. After all, the Doctor had already made his decision. 

“Well, alright then… Doctor, Rose, you can head back to your seats. Sherlock, John, Molly, to the front, please,” I instructed with a forced smile. The three headed over. Sherlock had his fists shoved into his pockets. 

“Molly, Sherlock, you first.”

As the two faced each other and kissed, I noticed that John folded his arms behind his back and pointedly kept his gaze fixed on the audience. Even when they pulled away, Molly blushing, Sherlock impassive, he refused to look at them. It wasn’t until I reminded him, “Your turn, John,” that he turned to face Sherlock. 

They stepped together, as if they were of one mind, one intent. John took Sherlock’s hand on an impulse, and the detective stared questioningly at him as he leaned closer. 

“You know, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” John said quietly, now nose to nose with Sherlock. “I could refuse, like that other woman.” 

For a moment, it looked like Sherlock might agree. He certainly looked hesitant enough. However, he shook his head, the motion so slight that not even John could be sure he saw it. But the doctor didn’t have any more time to think about it when Sherlock’s lips met his, and he could almost feel his own internal struggle. The ingrained habits within him wanted to push away, to refuse to accept that he could be anything but straight, but his heart knew his feelings and refused to let them be denied. He relaxed, placing a hand on Sherlock’s hip. At first the detective stiffened, and John was sure that he was going to pull back, but Sherlock, too, relaxed. 

I had to cough rather loudly and suggestively to break them up. When they did break apart, both men’s faces were red, and John had to hide a smile. Sherlock seemed to be stunned, swaying on his feet, and John led him back to their seats, Molly tagging along behind them. 

As soon as they sat back down, Dean rose to his feet, knowing that Team Free Will would be called next. I nodded approvingly and held out a hand as the three approached, smiling when Sam took it. Then I pulled him to me for a passionate kiss. It didn't even take him five seconds to reciprocate, wrapping his arms around me as if he wanted me even closer.

When I pulled away with a satisfied smile, Dean and Castiel were staring at the two of us, slack-jawed. I smirked and waved a hand at the two of them, a visual “get on with it, then.”

It was almost comical how fast the blood rushed to their faces. Cas looked like he wanted nothing more than the ability to fly away from this extremely awkward, demanding situation, and Dean looked like a deer caught in the headlights. It was clear that he was struggling with both his desire and his doubt. 

The desire must have won out, because he gulped and placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and slowly leaned in to press his lips to Cas’s. 

My baby bro stiffened, unsure and scared, but Dean was gentle, and besides, Cas knew that Dean was doing this of his own free will. And this was something that he had wanted for a long, long time. So he let himself go lax and kiss back, cupping Dean's face in his hands. 

I started to laugh, and they separated immediately, both flushed. Dean from embarrassment, Castiel from excitement. 

The audience roared delightedly. Shouts of “DEST-IEL, DEST-IEL,” filled the air, and it took fifteen minutes for me to quiet them down again. 

When finally, all was quiet, I stepped to the edge of the stage, pulling Sam with me. Honestly, I'd be content to never let go of his hand.

“There you have it, folks! Now you know what a kiss between your OPT looks like! Of course, I apologize to the Wincest shippers, but…” I shot a glance at Sam. “I think I'd rather keep that mouth for myself.” 

Sam laughed and kissed my cheek, but I saw the relief in his eyes.

“That's it for today, everyone, and remember, tomorrow is the day of results! So don't miss it!”

I bowed, and the curtain closed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I think I should add that while I don't ship Wincest, I'm not trying to insult people that do. I just can't write it well, and trying to would make me uncomfortable. Again, no offense is intended.


	6. Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. I hope you all enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Spoilers in this chapter are from season seven and on for Supernatural. Thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, or bookmarked. You're all lovely, and I hope you have a good day!

I sent everyone back to their rooms after the kissing segment, to let them hash it out in the “privacy” of their own rooms. I went to my viewing room, with the intention of dropping in on Sam later. I watched him as he arrived back at his room, a smile plastered on his lips as he began to dress for bed. When he took his shirt off, revealing a tall portrait of tan skin and muscle, I had to turn away. The sight was too tempting. 

Dean and Castiel had apparently already worked everything out. They sat on the bed, hips touching, hands clasped together, each sporting matching contented smiles. Finally, Cas broke the silence.

“How long have you felt this way, Dean?”

“I don't know anymore. It feels like it's been so long, I can't tell when love got mixed into the mess that I felt whenever I saw you. We've been through so much shit, it all starts to mix together, the good and the bad. I can't tell which memories are happy, with us all alive, well, and smiling, or devastating, knocking us to the floor and kicking us while we're down. I just know that right here, right now, I have this incredible feeling with you, and I'm not going to let it go anytime soon.”

Castiel blushed happily and rose to kiss his hunter’s cheek. 

“Well I know. Hester said that when I first laid a hand on you in Hell, I was lost. But she was wrong. I was saved. I simply didn't understand that then. Angels don't feel emotions as humans do. I couldn't feel trivial things like love when I was a celestial being. Then I was destroyed. When I was resurrected, there was a tiny tingle in my chest that I wouldn't go away but wouldn't be ignored. I still don't know what happened, what mistake was made that allowed me to feel. A blip in my programming, maybe. A virus is the hard drive that didn't affect the vessel, just the internal working.” 

Cas paused and squeezed Dean's hand.

“I didn't know that it could be love until Naomi’s brainwashing. She made me kill thousands of replicas of you, Dean. Maybe more. Probably more. But when she ordered me to, I couldn't kill the real you. It confused and disturbed me to no end, to know that you apparently had enough power over me to reach through the control of heaven. I had to know why, how it was possible. I'm still not sure what led to me to the realization that it was love, but once I came to the conclusion, the thought wouldn't be shaken off. It was always hovering in the back of my mind. I always just thought that it was my love for you that allowed me to break through Naomi’s brainwashing, but now I wonder if it was the combined strength of both of our feelings for each other.”

Dean nodded slowly, brow furrowed. He put an arm around Castiel’s shoulder to pull him closer and the angel happily obliged. 

“You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?” Dean asked, chuckling softly. 

“Yes. I think about you a lot,” Castiel answered. He missed the way his words rolled over Dean, leaving the hunter staring at him with something resembling disbelief on his face, like he couldn't imagine that anyone would spare him that much brainpower. 

“Really? What do you think about me?”

Castiel shrugged and turned his head away, but Dean still saw the redness in Cas’s cheeks. 

“Nothing, nothing… It'snotimportant,” he mumbled, the words rushing out in a jumble.

“Caaaaas, c'mon, please?”

“Okay… I think about how beautiful you are, and how nice it would be to kiss you and love you and call you mine. I think about-” he flushed again “-certain things that I would rather not talk about in a place that's under my brother's supervision.”

Dean laughed. Cas looked up at him at the sound, giving Dean the perfect opportunity to lean in and kiss him, which he took. 

I rolled my eyes fondly. Those two had obviously worked out their issues. Finally.

John and Sherlock were apparently on the same track. This was just the day for confessions.

I didn't know where Molly was. She had probably gone to get lunch. It was about noon, so it seemed a logical conclusion. 

On the monitor, I watched John rub awkwardly at his neck, obviously wondering how to start this conversation, because in his mind, it needed to be had. However, before he could even open his mouth, Sherlock beat him to the punch.

“This is now the second time that we have defied your continued insistence that you are heterosexual,” Sherlock stated suddenly from where he lay on his back on the bed, hands steepled beneath his chin as he kept his eyes resolutely fixed on the ceiling. 

John's head snapped up and he stared at Sherlock, eyes wide. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess it is,” the doctor finally replied, hands dropping into his lap. “Why?”

“Nothing, no reason, nevermind,” Sherlock muttered, turning onto his side, facing away from John, who wondered if Sherlock had actually meant to say those words out loud. 

“No, actually, it's not nothing,” John said, watching as Sherlock curled in on himself. “I'd like to talk about it.”

Sherlock groaned. 

“There's nothing to talk about, John. You did what you had to to play along, I understand.”

“Apparently you don't understand as well as you think,” John replied, smirking a little. 

The detective uncurled, sat up, and turned to face him, confusion evident on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Sherlock, you're so smart, but you can be so thick sometimes. I wasn't just playing the game. It's not a game anymore for me.” John averted his eyes as he felt himself blush. “I really do care for you. I just didn't know if you felt the same way.”

Hands falling onto his knees made him glance up sharply to see Sherlock kneeling in front of him, staring. 

“I do understand now, John.” Sherlock smiled and surged upward to connect their lips in a sweet kiss. John melted into it, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders. 

Finally. I grinned and spared a quick glance to Team TARDIS’s monitor and then poofed away to Sam's room. Everyone was fine and dandy, and I wanted to spend some more time with my moose before we all had to get up on stage again.

When I landed, Sam was already asleep, stretched out on the bed. Apparently he slept shirtless. Of course, that was no problem. I slipped under the covers behind him and slung an arm over his waist. Then the tall little shit turned over and pulled me into his chest. I should have known. Even in sleep, Samsquatch wouldn't have been content to be the little spoon. 

I sighed, but adjusted to the position. Not that I liked being held, no, nope, not this archangel, but the embrace was warm and loving, and I couldn't help but relax into it. Soon I was asleep. (Hey, just ‘cause I don't have to sleep doesn't mean I don't like to.)

******* 

When I woke up, it was because my internal clock was screaming at me that I had ten minutes to get everyone up and moving for the final segment. So, I may or may not have panicked and sent everyone tumbling off their beds with the symptoms of a minor earthquake. However, I fell too, so my throbbing head says that we're even. 

Sam groaned and stood up to see me rushing to him, swaying slightly.

“We have to get going. Nine minutes,” I murmured, grabbing his wrist to pull him towards the door. 

“Woah! Gabe, I need to get dressed. Give me a minute.”

“No time,” I protested, snapping my fingers. His clothes appeared, and I resumed my pulling. This time he let me drag him away. 

*******

It took me seven minutes to get everyone out of their rooms and onto the stage. A record if there ever was one. Most everyone had to skip breakfast, but it was a good thing that they did, because the stage lit up and the cameras starting rolling two minutes earlier than expected. I was just lucky that everyone was already in their assigned seats. 

I strolled onto the stage, hoping that I didn't look as weary as I felt, and waved to the audience. 

“Welcome to the last day of I Can't Believe It's Not Canon!” I called. “Today we will crown the winners, and see if our methods have found a means to an end for all you shippers out there! Let's give a round of applause for our contestants!”

Clapping rose from the audience, along with several hoots and hollers. The volume was nearly deafening. 

“And how about a big thanks for our celebrity judges?” 

More clapping, and cheering. Jack and Ianto took it all in from their table. 

“Now, it's the moment you've all been waiting for!” I had to stop. My voice was lost in the noise as the fans verbalized their enthusiasm.

“Here are the results!” I motioned to the screen behind the contestants, and the ranking popped up.

1\. Dean/Castiel  
2\. Sam/Gabriel  
3\. Sherlock/John  
4\. Ten/Rose

This time the screams really did deafen me. I put my fingers in my ears as the audience stood up, clapping, jumping up and down, squealing, screeching, and even crying joyfully. 

It took five minutes for the noise to die down, and my ears rang as I said, “Here is the criteria that our judges decided on.”

Sexual tension  
How long ship has existed  
How long they took to get together  
Cuteness

I nodded at criteria, and sent an approving grin to the judges. 

“There you have it, folks! This concludes our first, and most likely only episode of I Can't Believe It's Not Canon. Thank you for watching!”

The cameras cut, and I waved my hand to send the audience back into the nothingness that they were created from. 

Then I turned to me guests. 

“Thank you all for your cooperation. Even those of you who didn't really cooperate. I'm going to send you home now,” I told them.

The Doctor, Rose, and River exchanged goodbyes, and I sent them all back to their appropriate places. I did the same for Sherlock, John and Molly.

Dean and Castiel I sent home easily, but Sam gave me pause. He was smiling brightly, obviously expecting that I would be coming back with him. I don't know what gave me away, but as I reached for his forehead, he suddenly frowned and caught my wrist.

“Gabriel, you're coming with us, right?”

“I can't.”

Sam's frown deepened, and he flung my hand away.

“What the hell do you mean, you can't? What's stopping you?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. I couldn't tell him. Sam Winchester was a great and merciful man, but not even he could forgive me for this. If I told him, he'd go the rest of his life hating me, and I couldn't bear that outcome. Especially when my time was so limited. 

“Gabe? What aren't you telling me?” 

No, no, now he was getting scared. He probably wasn't even aware of it, but there were tears forming in his eyes, as though he already knew why I couldn't go back with him. 

“Sam, I love you.” I smiled sadly and pulled him to me, allowing myself one last kiss before I swiftly placed my hand on his forehead and sent him home. 

“Quite a performance. I'm impressed.” His voice slithered into my head, and I gritted my teeth to hold back my own crushing sorrow, both for what I had just done, and for what was coming next. 

“Brother, maybe we could skip the theatrics? I've had my fill,” I said softly, flinching as Lucifer stepped onto the stage. 

“Really? I've never known you to be one for minimizing drama. But sure, brother, if you have what I asked for, we can get to business.”

“I have it.” I handed him the gun - the infamous Colt - and stepped back as he examined it, a cruel smile on his lips. 

“Excellent. Our deal is done. I have my prize, and I gave you five days with Sam Winchester. Now, you know what comes next.”

“I know.” I closed my eyes and thought of my hunter as I heard Lucifer snap, and then I was no more. 

The devil smirked and caressed the cool metal in his hands. When he had summoned a servant to bring the gun to him, he had never expected that his brother would have been brought back to life. However, he was nothing if not a strategist. He had told Gabriel what he wanted, giving him the illusion that he only had five days before the spell wore off and sent him back to the dead. Gabriel's only request was that he be allowed to spend those five days with Sam Winchester. Lucifer had agreed, as long as he got what he wanted. The scheme that his brother had dreamed up was more elaborate than he had planned, but it worked. Now, he would beat those Winchesters. They depended on this gun. Without it, they would never beat Dagon. There was nothing else that would kill her. 

The only thing that struck him as strange was that the gun didn't hum in his hand, like he thought it would. Of course, he had never held the Colt before, so how could he have known how it's power would react to being held by one of the five things that it was unable to kill? 

Still… it was just like his brother to play such a trick. Give him a fake gun, take his five days with the moose, and laugh at Lucifer from beyond his second grave. In fact, the longer he thought about it, the surer he was that that was exactly the stunt that Gabriel had pulled. 

“Dagon!” he roared, summoning her. As soon as she appeared, he took aim, cocked the gun, and pulled the trigger. The bullet landed right between her widened eyes, but there was no spark or flash of light. She didn't drop dead. She didn't even wince. 

“Damn it!” He whirled on her. “The plan failed. Get back to the carrier.”

“But, you just shot me!”

“You're still alive, aren't you? So it doesn't matter. Get back and protect my child!” 

She scowled, but did as she was told. 

Lucifer screamed in rage and flung the gun out into the empty rows of seats in front of him. He swore that he could almost hear the trickster’s laugh echoing through the room. 

*******

Sam landed right smack in the middle of the library, eyes still closed, hands encircling the air where Gabriel had been. When he opened his eyes and realized that Gabriel had sent him back, he fell to his knees. His archangel was gone, again, but this time Sam didn't think he was coming back.

**Author's Note:**

> And suggestions, comments, kudos, all are appreciated! Thank you for reading, lovely person!


End file.
